


The Changing

by domake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Dark!Harry, Gen, Manipulation, crazy!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:26:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domake/pseuds/domake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems as though fate turned itself upside down, transforming the world into a circus. Through a series of coincidences, a hero with a tragic childhood, transformed into a new character. Something new. Unexpected. Different from the written play that dictated the lives of its characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A harsh gust of wind spiraled through the hallways like a howling ghost, slamming the windows open and close. A shrill shriek disturbed the mansion’s silence. The young boy shivered in response, his arms littered with goosebumps and his cheeks paling at the sharp sting of the hostile breeze. His fragile legs cautiously strode down the hallway along the side of the trails of the vanishing cloak.

Tormenting memories encroached upon him, screeching and shrieking in his mind. He hunched his shoulders, cocooning himself in his arms as though the tiny action could shield him from the bloodthirsty, savage world. The adult noticed this and called out in an aristocratic drawl, “There is no reason for you to hide yourself from me, Harry. Forget the way those…muggles treated you. I would be horribly insulted if you compared those savages to me.” 

His voice, a low tenor, reverberated throughout the corridors, each word echoing until they could be etched permanently inside Harry’s brain. The man’s face was interesting; a frightening, horrific appearance that struck fear into whoever had the misfortunate to gaze upon him. His skin was a deathly-pale white with no hair to hide the colour. There was also a missing nose and in its place were two slits, similar to a sight that Harry had seen once (on a documentary through a crack in his cupboard under the stairs) on a snake. Despite his appearance, there was a strange aura that exuded sadness and pain that originated from the past that is left unseen. 

Harry forcibly relaxed the tension in his shoulders and smiled tentatively at the man, hoping for a sign of approval. There was none to be given. Rather, only a flicker of satisfaction and an unknown dark feeling in his eyes, that sent tendrils of uncertainty down his spine. The man turned away from him (not in horrid dismissal based on false rumours spoken out of jealous and fiendish mouths) and walked faster, never looking back to see whether his guest was keeping up with him or not. Harry sprinted towards him before he lost sight of the adult in the labyrinth of identical corridors. The man suddenly stopped in front of a plain stone door that radiated power, deliciously tempting the senses. 

There was no door knob. But then how would you lock the door? Harry watched as the man retrieved a dagger out of his weird attire (Harry learned later that they were robes) and pierced his index finger, drawing a thick drop of blood, red as a tomato. He smeared the door with a line of blood and spoke indistinct words. Suddenly, the door melted into thin air! It was so amazing and fascinating and Harry really, really wanted to do that but how can he when he was such a freak….No one wanted to teach him. His neighbours at Privet Drive ignored him and murmured rumours about his drunk father who had caused his mother’s death before taking his own. Even his teachers distrusted him, only seeing the del-in-quent that the Dursleys’ told everyone that he was. He wasn’t. Because he knew he wasn’t.

The young child thoughts were disrupted, with a sharp gaze that seemed to stare into his soul, seeing it in its bare form. The man jerked his head towards the door, indicating that he should move - or else - because the man couldn’t tolerate wasting time. Harry quickly swept through the door, wearing his too-big, hand-me-down clothing and large round glasses.  
Years later, he wondered whether that was moment he was unable to redeem himself from the blood that stained his tainted hands.


	2. Chapter 1

Harry wondered if he’d done something wrong in his past life. Maybe he just was a bad seed? He heard ‘adults’ mention it in the past, some of the mean ones like Pier’s mother spitefully stated it to his face accompanied with a mean smirk. He didn’t know exactly what it meant but he knew it was a reference to his parents and himself. People often considered that children were innocent, little angels; that they couldn’t understand the brutal words they said. But they could to an extent. And they are not always the pure kind-hearted youngsters that they were perceived to be. Dursley for instance, gleefully listened during the night at the top of the stairs, when Uncle Vernon was watching a film on the telly that involved violence, screaming and sobs of pain. It was after his bedtime! He should’ve been asleep at that time. If he was caught awake, then he would be grounded and his so-called privileges such as his food ‘that came out of poor Duddeykin’s mouth’ would decrease or worse, be taken away from him.

It didn’t matter now. There were no Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia or Dudley to bother him. No chores to be done. He was currently in an alley that he’s never walked through before. He was never allowed to visit anywhere other than the places he was forced to go in case he spread his freakishness. (Its a good thing that school was compulsory: he would probably be forbidden to go outside the Dursley’s house).

He was breathing heavily, slumping against a wall that belonged to an office building. Unfortunately for him, there were no-one walking around in the streets. The people that worked in the office, they were gone to their homes even the employers. The other shops in the street were closed, with not even a light on in any window. It was almost as though there was a dark shadow that held the area in its formidable grip. Something sinister.

Before he ran away in fright and confusion, he was defending himself. Harry was unwilling playing another game of ‘Harry-hunting’ with the ‘Big D.’ and his gang. He was caught. Then…something happened. He didn’t know what. It didn’t frighten himself but he could see the fear in Dudley’s eyes and his minions. They were terribly scared of him. A small part of Harry that thrived in hatred, anger and power urged him to terrify them, before they forget this moment and hurt him even more. “Hurt them,” it tempted, “they certainly had no qualms to hurt you, didn’t they?” And he really wanted to follow that voice with all his heart but…then, they ran away from him. The Dursleys found out what happened.

Uncle Vernon was very upset and angry. Harry was so panicked and alarmed because although he was always cross with him, this was a whole new level. He fled outside of the house onto the street and he was being chased, he could hear the furious yell and frenzied, heavy footsteps that followed him. He just had to go. Go away. Somewhere. Then he did. He heard a loud crack (the sound of a belt threatening to whip a back that shouldn’t even-) and he was squeezed through a large tube. That was how he is here now. Cold, freezing with his thin clothing. No-one near him that he could go for comfort like when Dudley fell a couple of days ago, scratching his knee and Aunt Petunia fussed over him, freely giving away hugs and kisses.

He was happy that he escaped Uncle Vernon’s wrath but he was just extremely tired. He couldn’t even move a part of his body, even his little pinkies. The lack of proper food and diet was dragging him towards a dark abyss. He badly wanted to sleep but he had a feeling that if he did, that was it. Harry wondered if he would die now. He heard that after a person dies that they go to a nice place called heaven. Harry thought about it. He’d rather not. Apparently, it was a place where people can live forever and that was a really long time. Even older than batty Mrs. Figg. His teachers told one of his classmates who was crying heavily, snot dripping onto their school desk that: “Just because their mother was gone, that she would be watching in heaven, praying for a wonderful future for the child that they loved a lot”. His father was a drunk who killed his wife in a car crash and he never knew his mother. His mother who Aunt Petunia hated with all her heart for probably a good reason. Watching meant keeping someone safe.

Who was there when he was all alone, hungry and thirsty for something he desperately swore he never did? When he desperately -and truthfully- stated that it was Dudley who broke the vase but he was never believed? His relatives were always obsessed with being perfect and normal. He would never be like them. He was too much of a freak. They would go to heaven just because everyone else went there. Maybe hell would a better place. It might be a wonderful place, even better than heaven. He wouldn’t be with his relatives forever and they already don’t want him to be with them for even a fraction of a second. It was a win-win situation.  
…  
Nagini watched. She watched stealthily in a still, precise manner before snapping her jaws, ripping them into her prey with a desperate hunger that burned. They were bony and muscular, their fat burnt from fierce survival. Day after day, this was her life. Hunting, hiding from humans, muggle and magical. Then, she saw a bodiless wrath, forgotten and alone in the shadows. Felt its power, weakened slightly but still strong - a burning light that thrived in darkness. Allowed it to possess her temporarily until the wrath became attached to her in its own strange way and she felt affectionate to it as well. It then possessed another animal and stayed close to her as she protected his host from hunters and magicals who were hunting “You-know-who”. She certainly did not know this person. But the wrath did. He hesitated but nevertheless, told her everything. She wordlessly listened. She did not care who he was and what he is now, even the fact that he spoke parseltongue which for most snakes would have automatically guaranteed loyalty. He is her…Master. She will follow him even they lead to her death.

Suddenly, a man appeared. Both of their lives were changed forever (and only Fate knew that the path she planned for her play’s characters became twisted). He wore a shiny ring with a black stone. Nagini saw him as a dangerous threat and she rushed to strike, poisoned fangs ready to bite. But Master ordered her not to. So she watched. The man seemed shocked, then disappointed at the sight of Master. Her Master and the man were similar in aura and power. However, it seemed as if the man was a hatchling, stuck in a phase before he reached his prime in a rise of glory.

The man spoke to her Master in parseltongue. She did not pay much attention to the conversation. (Unknown to Nagini, the two discussed the circumstances that lead to the Horcrux’s resurrection. It involved ignorant muggle teenagers dared to enter the Gaunt house and one of them in a trance, wore the ring causing their deaths.) She noticed that humans were touchy about privacy and personal space. So she ignored them in favour for a mouse that the man gave to her. It was fat and juicy. Her jaws watered with venom at the sight of her new prey. They still hunger with a fiery passion for that mouse now as she was draped over Master’s shoulders. He wasn’t a bodiless wrath anymore, he had a body now with a different appearance than other humans but this meant that she can tell him apart easily from humanity’s generic looks. She was unsure about how he managed to obtain a body, though she did have her suspicions. She noticed that the man who was like-but-not her Master was not around them anymore. Master also seemed different in a way. He acted familiar but there were some discrepancies in his personality that she couldn’t quite describe.

Nagini knew that Master was conflicted as they travelled to their destination. They were in a large human dwelling called London. Master told her that they were travelling to the place where he grew up to burn it down with scorching flames. It was an orphanage where hatchlings with no one to care for them went. The anticipation was thick; a dense weight that burdened Master, slowing his decisive steps. It was disheartening that their expectations were false. The classic ‘revenge’ story where the villain takes their vengeance against past oppressors and destroy the place where they suffered did not bloom. Instead of the orphanage, there were office buildings. Luckily, there were no-one in the street due to Master casting “notice-me-not” and “muggle repelling” spells earlier. Otherwise, they would’ve been cursed to death. Master is not a kind man. Nagini, unsure about her Master’s feelings, decided to leave him alone to organise his thoughts and emotions. She silently slithered onto the floor and explored the surrounding area. Vigilance is important, after all. She smelled the area and a whiff of a terrified hatchling rushed towards her like rushing water spilling out of the broken dam. She sensed that they were powerful and magical. This might be the key to lighten Master’s spirit.

…

Voldemort is pleased. His little pawn grew up into a useful knight. It is fortunate that he did not act on his rash anger when he saw the child that led to his temporary downfall. Instead, he legitimised Harry, greedily squeezing out his memories like a blood-thirsty vampire that hadn’t ate in centuries. He knows everything - the abuse and his potential. He is a useful tool which helped persuade him to spare his life. It was also a lovely experiment regarding nature vs. nurture. Obviously, he was careful about teaching him certain areas and also planted certain…self-destruct buttons inside Harry’s mind.

 

Interestingly, he isn’t a good parent. Harry’s psyche turned out slightly skewed and distorted. Currently, Harry is slaughtering blood traitors and rebels that blockaded themselves in Hogwarts to prevent his Death Eaters from invading. It is for naught. The spells they used to protect and defend were pitiful challenges to Harry’s sheer power. He had moulded Harry into a work of art. He told Dumbledore that he would have been a good D.A.D.A. teacher.

 

“Pitter patter. All around. Blood splashing,” Harry sang cheerfully, covered in blood. His eyes dilated and glazed. Bodies lay around him, with different features and appearances. Red-haired Weasleys and a certain bushy-haired girl, who would have been one of his best friends, once upon a time, were among them.


End file.
